


Dust to Dust

by FlyingFleshEater



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Loneliness, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-04 04:43:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingFleshEater/pseuds/FlyingFleshEater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johanna Mason needed a project. Getting Katniss Everdeen to fall in love with her seemed like a good one. Of course, everything gets complicated by Katniss being a completely oblivious idiot with all the charm of a dead rat. AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

 

_It's not your eyes_   
_It's not what you say_   
_It's not your laughter_   
_That gives you away_   
_You're just lonely_   
_You've been lonely, too long_

_~_

Johanna took one final swing of her axe, relishing in the heavy sound the steel made when it bit into the wood. The tree groaned in the light wind, and the inches of flesh in the hinge still keeping it upright started to crack and splinter. Johanna pulled her axe free and leaned against the tree, encouraging its demise. A startling pop sounded and she retreated quickly in case the trunk kicked back at her.

She didn’t call out any warning as the tree fell, it was still early, and no one would be working until after the reaping anyway. It landed with a booming thud that Johanna felt in her ribs. Startled birds took flight in dark clouds from the nearby trees, voicing their displeasure. Once the felled tree had fully settled, Johanna returned to the stump and picked up her canteen before taking a seat on her natural throne.

Drinking deeply from the half empty container, Johanna took several moments to rest and enjoy the serenity of nature. Some of the birds had returned, and awake now, called out to each other overhead. The scent of damp earth and pine filled the air and she breathed deeply the bouquet. To the east, the first fingers of dawn were creeping over the shadows, but dark clouds obstructed more than a greyish tinge.

It would rain at District Seven’s reaping. It usually did.

Johanna checked her watch, squinting at the cracked face to see the hands. She insisted on only buying within her district, never sending away for anything that came from the capital, so it was a cheap, busted-ass, piece of shit, but it told the time well enough. She had about three hours before the first reapings would happen in Twelve and Eleven, just enough time to load up her haul and drive back to the truck yard. She had “borrowed” a small lumber truck for her early morning excursion, but the Peacekeeper on duty hadn’t tried to stop her. No one was going to complain about a little free labor.

With a tired grunt, Johanna got back to her feet and started to work on sectioning up the tree.

Two hours later, the sun shining faintly through the clouds, Johanna walked through the quietly stirring town with her axe slung over her shoulders. No one greeted her and she didn’t offer anything either. The people of Seven respected her wish to be left alone. Even the other victors rarely bothered her.

Of the five inhabited houses of victor’s village, hers was the only one that was occupied by only one person. The other victors had families. The other victors had friends.

Johanna took her time preparing to watch the first reapings. She took a long shower, thoroughly washing her short hair to ensure there weren’t any branches or bugs caught in it, and relaxing her shoulders and back under the hot spray. She had not allowed being a victor to soften her. Just because she didn’t have to work didn’t mean she would stop. Felling one tree wouldn’t be enough on its own to give her a sore back, but the tension of the day and what would follow certainly could.

With minutes to spare, Johanna fixed herself a drink. The alcohol came from one of the local stills. It was clear and pungent, and it could probably peel the paint from the walls. It tasted like absolute shit too, not like what she would get in the Capital. But when she was home she supported the locals in the only way she could, and Chip was a good guy even if he didn’t know how to ferment corn properly.

By the time she had settled down in her favorite chair, one that had moved with her from her original home, the preliminary remarks had already wrapped up in Twelve. Johanna wasn’t exactly upset that she had missed the air-headed escort’s praises of the capital, she’d have to listen to it up close and personal in a few hours anyway.

The cameras panned over the crowd of lined up children and Johanna took note of the thin, washed out faces. All the tributes she had met from Twelve seemed more like animals than people, like dogs that had been kicked too much. The pale, drab little monsters were usually easy pickings. Not much spirit could survive in a place like that.

“Primrose Everdeen.” Johanna was startled by the way she’d let her thoughts wander, and she focused back on the action.

At first there was no movement and then a subtle shifting happened as the girls looked among themselves to find the unlucky sacrifice. Then there was movement, right near the front and Johanna let out a disappointed sigh. It was never pleasant to see a twelve year old reaped. The pretty little thing probably wouldn’t make it past the first day.

Johanna leaned her head back and closed her eyes, taking a long drink and enjoying the burn. One less threat for her tributes, she supposed.

A panicked shout on the screen drew her attention. An older girl was running after the young one. “I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!”

Johanna felt like her eyebrows might disappear into her hairline, but they drew down just as quickly when she scowled. That was certainly a new turn of events. As far as she was aware, District Twelve had never had a volunteer. There seemed to be a little spirit there afterall.

The girl was scared, nearly shaking in her boots. Pale and thin and half-starved looking, she climbed the stairs as the other girl was dragged away and the escort asked for her name.

Katniss Everdeen. The little kid’s sister.

For a moment, Johanna allowed herself to wonder if her brothers would have done the same for her, had they still be eligible for the games when she was reaped. She shook the thought away quickly. What they would or wouldn’t have done for her was irrelevant, boys couldn’t volunteer for girls anyway.

On screen Katniss was receiving, instead of applause, the three fingered salute of District Twelve. Johanna hummed to herself. She had never actually seen it before, but to see a huge crowd almost simultaneously salute was quite moving.

The reaping continued with the boys, but she didn’t pay much attention to what was being said. Johanna downed the last of her drink, not taking her eyes off the image of Katniss Everdeen.

She had a feeling that she was looking at a victor.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s some descriptions of violent death near the end. Not too bad but it could be jarring.

_Don’t cry for the lost_   
_Smile for the living_   
_Get what you need and give what you’re given_   
_Life’s for the living so live it_   
_Or you’re better off dead_

Johanna jolted upright in her bed when a loud crash from the main room startled her awake. She relaxed quickly when it was followed with Blight’s muffled cursing. The man was a walking accident; he knocked something over at least once a day. She settled back into the luxurious Capital sheets and roughly wiped away the tears that were nearly always present when she woke up. She checked the time once her eyes were clear and noted that it was past three in the afternoon, which explained why she was so hungry.

Her tributes, the little idiots, hadn’t even lasted the first hour, so unlike some of the other mentors, she had nothing to do during the remaining time she was stuck in the Capital. Since she had made her requisite public appearances early during training, she didn’t have to leave the comfort of her suite. And it was very comfortable, though she would deny that she enjoyed it if anyone confronted her about it.

 She had taken to sleeping long hours, as it was one of the few ways to avoid the games entirely. Ever since her own games, she had refused to watch young children viciously murder each other when she didn’t have to. While she had absolutely no remorse for the actions she took as a tribute, she also didn’t find glory in her victory. She had gone into her games knowing that she would win. She was a survivor, always had been and always would be.

With a weary sigh and the knowledge that she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep anyway, she pushed the soft blankets away and climbed out of the large bed. She showered for longer than was necessary and then changed into the clothes that her stylist had left out for her. Knowing that she wouldn’t be leaving the suite, the outfit was comfortable and thankfully absent any symbolism to trees.

She missed her casual clothes from home, like the oversized flannel she kept just because it had been her fathers, even though the comforting scent of coffee, pine, and aftershave had long been washed out. Just rolling up the sleeves reminded her of days of playing dress up and pretending to chop down trees before she was actually sent out to work. Unfortunately, her stylist wouldn’t let her dress like a logger in the Capital, even if no one would see her.

Dressed, and almost presentable, she wandered into the sitting room where the tv was showing the games. Blight was the only one in the room, other than the avoxes.

“Where’s our babysitters?” she asked around a yawn, drawing Blight’s attention away from the tv.

“They went up to the viewing party on District Three’s floor about an hour ago.”

Johanna rolled her eyes and made her way over to the dining table that was always stocked with food. “So what’s happening?”

“Only three left, the boy from Eleven died about twenty minutes ago, so that leaves the tributes from Twelve and the boy from Two,” Blight answered succinctly.

“Hn.” Johanna took her time choosing a pastry. She hated to admit it, but she had grown attached to the feisty little Katniss Everdeen, despite the fact that she had never actually met the girl. There was just something about her, perhaps the defiant tilt of her chin when she looked into the cameras, that pleased Johanna in an undefinable way. It would be entirely disappointing if she didn’t survive.

She had tried to not take any special interest in the girl, but her initial assessment of Katniss coupled with the stunning work of her prep team had only drawn Johanna in more. She hated that she could still occasionally fall into the trap of entertainment spun by the Capital, but she still ate up every piece of information on the girl that she could find. That included listening to Haymitch vent his frustrations to Seeder and Cecilia. While the mentors made a point to never discuss their tributes strengths and weaknesses, that didn’t stop them from complaining about objectionable personality traits.

_“I almost want to strangle her myself, save the rest of the tributes the trouble.”_

_“That bad?”_

_Haymitch sighed. “She’s so distrustful. She questions every single little thing. She refuses to play nice. It’s like she thinks she’s the only person that’s ever thought of hating the Capital. Here I am working my ass off to try and get her sponsors and she won’t even smile.”_

_“I had one like that a few years ago. The poor things just never realize that they’re just making it all harder on themselves.”_

In a way it was baffling to Johanna. Her tributes always wanted her help. They were scared little kids and they trusted her to give them good advice. And she did. She gave them great advice. It wasn’t her fault they weren’t exactly good at following through. Remembering her own games, she had been the same, scared and so young, she almost couldn’t believe it had only been four years since she was fighting for her life. She had been naive then, but she had been willing to take all the help she could get. When her skill with an axe and her willingness to utterly destroy anything in her path was discovered she had followed Blight’s instructions to the letter. However, when she recalled why she was drawn to Katniss in the first place, it didn’t seem so strange.

Johanna took her chosen pastry, a large fluffy thing full of warm chocolate, and made her way over to the couch. She sat down with her back to the arm and laid her legs over Blight’s lap. He grunted in amusement but didn’t push her away. Other than Finnick, he was probably the closest thing she had to a friend. He was the only person in Seven willing to reach out to her, and the only one she felt comfortable confiding in anyway.

On screen it was dark and Katniss and Peeta were running towards the Cornucopia, the sounds of barking following them.

“Finale?”

“Yep. Mutts.”

“Ah.” To Johanna’s knowledge there hadn’t been any creature comparable in her own games, but she had seen them in games before. Really, the limits to the depravity of the games were only those of the gamemaker’s creativity.

She leaned back and closed her eyes. Blight might have been her friend, but she still had an image to maintain, and that image included pretending she wasn’t paying a bit of attention to the games. He indulged her as she faked falling back to sleep, but she was still listening to the action with everything she had. There was an altercation; she could hear yelling over the Mutts’ howls, but she wasn’t drawn out of her ruse until the boy from Two directly spoke to Katniss.

Johanna’s eyes snapped open.

It was a standoff. Two, badly bleeding, was holding Peeta in a headlock that was slowly cutting off all his air and also making him a handy body shield. Katniss was across from them, bow raised and ready to strike.

And Two was monologuing. Johanna would have sneered at the absurdity if she hadn’t been so drawn in to how the situation would unfold. She hated herself a little for being so interested; she decided to blame Katniss for it.

Several things happened almost at once. Katniss loosed her arrow seemingly at the same time that Two twisted Peeta’s head forcefully. There was a sick crack, the boom of the cannon, and a masculine scream. Peeta folded like a wet towel and Two reeled back from the force of the arrow striking his hand, and his heels slipped off the edge of the Cornucopia. Katniss screamed Peeta’s name even as she ran forward and drove her heel into Two’s knee. There was another crack and another scream and Two pin wheeled off the edge entirely, falling into the pack of growling mutts. His screams continued even as Katniss fell to her knees beside Peeta’s body.

Johanna hadn’t really put much stock in the “star-crossed lovers” routine, assuming it to be an act, but the way Katniss was fussing over the boy’s body she had to wonder if there was something to it after all. Her hands fluttered hesitantly over his head before finally touching him. She let out a pained gasp of his name that even managed to pull at Johanna’s cold heart. Katniss began to cry then, not the loud wracking sobs she had let out when the little girl, Rue, was killed, but quiet tracks of tears.

Johanna frowned. Katniss had made a mistake by getting attached. Nothing good could have come from it and she wondered what the girl had been thinking. But then, she had admitted to herself that she had become attached to Katniss without even meeting her. Would she have been able to avoid it if they had met in the games, with a certainty that one of them would die?

_Unlikely. And it’s actually really pathetic. You haven’t even seen this girl in person and you’re already worked up over her._

On screen, Katniss had arranged Peeta’s body so he was no longer in an undignified heap, but it actually made the killing blow more obvious. The boy’s head was unnaturally turned, and the skin of his neck was stretched and twisted. His mouth and eyes were open grotesquely and the camera was pointed straight at him.

To Johanna’s amusement, the gamemakers seemed to realize that was a bad idea and tried to switch angles. Katniss had managed to unknowingly put Peeta’s body in a perfect position that made him look more tragic from every angle they tried.

“Man, that’s bad,” Blight commented, noticing the same thing. Johanna couldn’t help but to laugh a little.

“She’s a natural rebel I guess.”

“Takes one to know one.” Johanna sneered but didn’t bother contesting his remark.

Katniss had taken hold of Peeta’s head between both hands and tried to turn it back to its proper position. She didn’t use enough force and his head stayed facing the entirely wrong direction. Johanna watched, open mouthed, as Katniss took a steadying breath and forcefully wrenched Peeta’s head back the way it was supposed to be with another violent crunch. Johanna’s hand found her own throat as phantom pain erupted there.

“Sick.”

Johanna didn’t say anything.

Katniss scrambled away from Peeta, visibly gagging, and then threw up over the side of the Cornucopia.

Johanna and Blight almost simultaneously flinched away, groaning in disgust.

“That’s just nasty.”

“Did she just hurl on Two?”

“I think she did,” Johanna wheezed with horrible laughter. Blight joined her with his own deep chuckles, wincing as he did so.

“He’s still alive too, poor fucker.”

Johanna hummed in agreement. She expected Katniss to pull herself together and put Two out of his misery before long. She hadn’t counted on Katniss apparently having some sort of vindictive pleasure in watching Two suffer. Her face had transformed into a malicious mask as she stalked along the edge of the Cornucopia, looking down into the darkness where Two was writhing under the torture of the Mutts. Johanna wondered if Katniss could actually see what was being done to the boy, because the viewers could. It was like watching paint dry, if paint could emit ghastly screams of pain.  It lasted for hours, during which Blight came and went, bringing over fresh food and drinks, until Katniss seemed to finally grow bored with Two’s pleas for mercy. She loosed an arrow right into his eye, killing him instantly.

The cannon boomed. The Mutts stalked away. The sun rose.

Katniss stood on top of the Cornicopia, gripping her bow, staring grimly at the sky and unknowingly right into a camera.

Johanna honestly didn’t know whether to be impressed or confused. Getting a read on the Girl on Fire was harder than she thought.

She raised her glass in a silent toast. She had been right on the day of the Reaping. She was looking at a victor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peeta dies, very sad, much feels.  
> I'm sure you've probably noticed already, but this fic will use a mix of book and movie canon. There's just some places where the visuals from the movie work better. That being said, after this chapter things are going to be drifting firmly away from the canon.  
> If anyone has some really good ideas for horribly nasty quarter quells I would like to hear them. The arena is going to be the same, but the victors won't be going into it so...


	3. Chapter Two

_I know I'm not perfect,_  
I know I got issues,  
I know that I've got a sordid past,  
And, yeah, some bad tattoos.

 _I'm not a model,_  
I'm not a saint,  
I'm sorry but I am just not sorry,  
'Cause I swear and 'cause I drink.

**x**

Johanna shifted uncomfortably under her heavy waxed jacket. She had been working hard all morning and sweat traveled down her back despite the cold weather. Her cheeks and nose were bright red from the chill, and even through her long johns and thick denim trousers her other cheeks were just as cold, though likely less red. She blew out a heavy breath through her mouth and watched the white cloud float away disinterestedly.

Beside her, Bole was sharpening both of their axes, giving Johanna a chance to rest her hands. She had spent the morning, along with dozens of other people, helping a local couple build their first home. The couple, Willow, a logger, and Bucky, an apprenticed blacksmith, would be married upon the completion of the house. It was a long standing tradition in Seven that as many people who were capable help build the house, partly to show community support, but mostly to get the work done faster. Johanna, despite her emotional distance from the people around her, always leant a hand, or an axe, when she could.

The wood was usually paid for by both sets of parents. Because wood was so expensive, ridiculously so considering it didn’t have to be shipped anywhere, most people only bought enough new logs to be used for the framing beams and used lumber reclaimed from buildings that had been torn down for the rest. Of course, the reclaimed wood had to be bought as well, since it all belonged to the local government. Johanna had taken to buying extra logs for each build, since she didn’t do much with her money anyway and had plenty to spare. Larch, Seven’s first victor, had been doing the same for years and gave Johanna the idea.

Since she had started that morning, an hour or so before sunrise, she had completely finished squaring off four posts and one longer structural beam with Bole’s help. They scored together with scoring axes and then took turns driving off large chunks of wood quickly. Continuing to take turns with broad axes, they would then hew the log down to the blue chalk line that was snapped on as a guide. Usually a logger, Johanna didn’t get the chance to do much carpentry, but she grew up with the expectation of building her own home someday, and she had picked up a few things along the way. Now that she was required to live in her Capital provided home that dream was lost, but she did get satisfaction out of knowing that her blood and sweat had gone into building other homes in Seven.

Bole handed her freshly sharpened axe back to her and hurriedly pulled on his gloves. His nose and cheeks were just as red as hers, but he had the added protection of a substantial beard. He glanced at her quickly. “Ready?”

Johanna nodded and approached the fresh log that had taken five men to carry. It had been put up on sleepers and on each end a log dog had been driven in to further prevent rolling. Someone else had already removed the outer bark, leaving the pale sapwood on display, the chalk line had also already been snapped on. With a gesture, Bole indicated that she should make the first cut. Once she did, they entered into a steady rhythm of alternating chops. The heavy repetitive sound made Johanna feel calm and centered, it was a welcome distraction from thoughts about what the rest of the day might bring. Soon all work would have to stop when the Peacekeepers rounded everyone up in the main square to listen to Katniss Everdeen talk about the sacrifice of two children she’d never even spoken to. Before that, though, Johanna would have to be dragged away and spruced up by her stylist along with the other victors of Seven.

She made a particularly vicious chop at the thought and nearly over balanced herself. Bole ignored her stumble, like a gentleman, and waited for her to get back in rhythm. They were almost finished with their last notch when Johanna heard Blight’s voice carry over the work site as he walked through greeting people.

“Here to help, Blight?” Bole asked after he took his last chop.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m actually here to fetch Johanna. We all have to be dolled up for the gathering later.”

Johanna sighed and leaned against the log. “It’s too early for this shit.”

Blight laughed. “Come on, you have to be pretty for the cameras.”

Johanna quirked a brow and menacingly hefted her axe onto her shoulder. “You sayin’ I’m not pretty?”

Blight backed off with his hands raised playfully. Bole laughed behind them.

“Alright, alright, just let me pack up my stuff.”

She had brought four axes with her and had to take the time to sharpen, oil, and mask all of them before storing them in the box she used to carry them easily from one site to another. Truthfully she was just stalling. She could have waited until she got home to do maintenance on her tools. Dealing with her stylist and prep team was always an exercise in restraint. The only one she could even deal with was Cyprian, who always did her hair. He was quieter than the others and told very stupid jokes.

Before leaving the site, she searched out Willow and Bucky to give them a good luck gift, a small bear carving. They would probably receive at least a dozen similar carvings before their wedding. Bears were considered to be good luck in District Seven. They were rarely seen and only during some of the expeditions that stretched out to the borders of the district. Johanna had never actually seen one, and only knew what they were supposed to look like because of the carvings her parents had received when they were married. She and her brothers had played with the little figurines for years and she had memorized the trait of the animal. Every statue was different of course, since every person that carved put a little of themselves into their work. Johanna’s figurines were sanded as smooth as she could make them and finished with stains that made them shine beautifully. She took a lot of pride in her work and it was an honor to be able to give it away.

She didn’t say anything to either Willow or Bucky; she simply handed the bear over with a polite nod and turned to leave. She would probably come back the next day to help, but she made no promise to do so. Eyes were everywhere. She didn’t want to seem too friendly.

With nothing else to do to delay heading back to Victor’s Village, she returned to where Blight and Bole were making polite conversation and picked up her box. She didn’t wait for Blight. He would catch up soon enough.

They walked through Seven in silence and it was only when they made it to the Village and had to split up that Blight wished her luck. He was aware of how much Johanna detested her stylist.

She gave him a pinched smile and watched him walk off.

She entered her house with a sense of dread and sat her axe box by the door before removing her hat. The door slammed shut behind her and the noise echoed through the house. Before she could even take off her gloves or coat, her stylist, Vita, met her in the entrance way. She looked like she had just tasted something sour.

“What?” Johanna demanded defensively. She looked down at herself to look for a problem and couldn’t see anything wrong. Everything was buttoned and zipped like it was supposed to be and she wasn’t covered in mud.

“What did you do to your hair?” she asked, accusatory, settling her hands on her hips.

Johanna frowned and ran her still gloved hand through the choppy locks. “I cut it.”

“With your axe?”

Johanna rolled her eyes. “Fuck you.”

Vita frowned at the profanity but was so used to Johanna's manner that she didn't comment on it. "Well at least you're wearing clothes."

In protest, Johanna started to strip, and just to make Vita more irritated with her, she left her clothes in a pile on the floor right where she was standing. When she was down to her underwear she stooped to pick up her axe box and walked away. “I’m going to put these up and then shower.”

“Shave this time, please,” Vita called after her, her tone so snooty that Johanna just wanted to turn around and heave the entire box of axes at her overly coiffed head. She ground her teeth and stomped away instead. Vita had never been fond of her, she just wasn’t lady-like enough for the stylist, and Johanna hadn’t ever tried to encourage positive feelings between them, in fact she usually went out of her way to antagonize Vita. She wasn’t surprised by Vita’s attitude at all.

Of course, it didn’t matter if she shaved or not, it wouldn’t be good enough and she’d be waxed anyway. She wouldn’t waste the energy on it.

Her shower was rushed and unpleasant, due more to her dread than any tangible reason. The hot water did nothing for her tense shoulders. Washing her hair just reminded her of Vita’s snide comment and brought a fresh scowl to her face.

As soon as she stepped out of the bathroom Drusilla and Cassia pounced on her and, as predicted, they had been instructed to wax her. Johanna suffered the indignity in silence. It had taken her a couple of tries to figure out that it was just easier that way. Drusilla was quite a bit bigger than her and completely capable of holding her down if necessary.

They sent her back to the shower afterwards for a “quick rinse” which Johanna knew was code for “you still smell like actual work.”

“Your hair will be done in your bedroom, pet,” Dru called through the door in her strangely deep voice.

Cyprian was waiting in her room when she got out of her second shower, his electric blue eyes wide and delighted. He had cleared a section of the floor for his styling chair and mirrors, but had just piled up the clothes out of the way instead of trying to do something with them like Vita would. Undoubtedly she would return in a few hours to find all of her clothes in a heap to be burned, but for now they were safe.

As soon as she was seated Cyprian was ready with a joke, as usual. “What’s the difference between a rabbit and a lumberjack?”

Johanna was already smiling. “I don’t know, what?”

“A rabbit hops and chews, a lumberjack chops and hews.”

“That’s terrible, and I’ve heard it before.”

“Ah but you’re smiling, so I still win.” Cyprian’s smile was angelic.

“Just do my hair.”

“Of course, of course. I’m thinking some red would look nice, yeah? To match the dress.”

Johanna looked up in interest at that. She was normally dressed in neutral colors for the Victory Tours, to make sure that none of the previous victors overshadowed the new one. “What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you seen it?” Johanna shook her head. Cyprian called out for Drusilla to bring in the dress, and within a few seconds Dru’s heels could be heard clacking down the hallway. She turned the corner grandly, pushing the dress on its mannequin in ahead of her.

Vita lacked imagination. Most of the dresses she had made over her years as the women’s stylist for Seven had been uninspired and relied on examples set by the stylists that preceded her. Usually these examples involved trees and occasionally paper. This dress seemed to have actually had a little effort involved, even if it was still ugly as sin. It was red, bright and clean like the lacquer on the shitty axes sent in from District Two. The bottom of the dress was steel grey, like the blade of those same axes.

Johanna couldn’t stop her mouth from twitching into a sneer. Cyprian noticed.

“It’s not that bad. I think you’ll look good in red.”

She cut a glance at him but didn’t say anything. She would look good in red, so good that she would probably draw a lot of attention, and that was bad. Vita was probably looking for that attention, but why she didn’t save the dress for next year’s tribute was anyone’s guess.

“Lean back, dear, and we’ll fix up your hair.”

**x**

Peacekeepers escorted the five victors to the square in silence. Larch lead the group, his stooped shoulders and shuffling gate slowing them down a little, and Johanna brought up the rear. It was still cold, but she had been dressed in a sturdy jacket and she had been allowed to wear her long johns under the soft wool pants. Her face was still exposed to the weather, and the wind bit at her cheeks freely, but she wouldn’t say a word against Larch’s pace. She was fairly certain he could still kill a bear with only a stick and piece of string if the situation called for it.

District Seven’s square was covered due to the frequency of sudden rainstorms. Instead of leaving the ground to become churning mud, a concrete slab had been poured and was kept well maintained. Johanna and her fellow victors were led up the central isle that separated the boys from the girls during the Reaping, but currently just separated two halves of the crowd. Chairs were set out for them to the left of the stage and Johanna knew she would be sitting on the side closest to Katniss, though at least ten feet would still separate them.

The cameras were already on and so was her game face. She tried to avoid fidgeting entirely, but she hated waiting for anything, particularly in the cold. Minutes felt like excruciatingly dull hours, until finally the Mayor took the stage and made the opening remarks. The surviving families of the fallen tributes were introduced. Johanna bowed her head respectfully when their names were called. She and Blight had personally escorted the bodies of their tributes on the long funeral march when they had arrived back in Seven six months ago.

Once the families had been acknowledged it was time for Katniss’s debut. The doors to Town Hall opened and Johanna’s breath caught in anticipation. The gathered crowd hissed with whispered conversation until the Peacekeepers started to push at the people nearest them with their shields.

The escort stepped out first in impossible heels, her smile painfully wide and her hair a disturbing orange; and then Haymitch, dressed in pale blues and greys; and then finally, Katniss, striking in emerald green.

Johanna knew she was staring, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

She had been watching the Victory Tour, of course, and not only because she wasn’t able to turn her TV off. Her curiosity for how Katniss was holding up had gotten the better of her desire to avoid anything to do with the games. She had seen how much Katniss had changed over six months. It was amazing what a good diet could do for a person. Katniss actually looked healthy and more beautiful than she had even in her pretty dresses in the capital. She was still dressed very well, of course. Cinna was an absolute genius in Johanna’s mind. Beyond the physical, though, Johanna could see how Katniss’s expression was darker, her smile fake in a very obvious way, her expression otherwise blank.

In person she was both beautiful and sad. The disdain did not radiate off of her the way it had in the Capital. Instead her fear was nearly palpable, making everyone around her tense and uncomfortable.

The speech was stock, of course. Ever since the absolute disaster that had happened in Eleven because she had deviated from the cards, Katniss had stuck to the pre-approved speech like a bug on sap. She wasn’t exactly doing a very good job of selling it though. A dull monotone was no way to convince a population that you were truly praising the Capital. So far, Caesar Flickman had been able to spin it as Katniss still being choked up over Peeta, but that was only going to last so long. She was drowning, like so many did after the games. If Johanna had to guess, she would say that the only thing keeping Katniss going was her little sister, and if she didn’t clean her act up soon, she would lose that too.

She glanced briefly at Haymitch. He was staring out at the crowd with a benign expression, eyes alert and focused. It was the first time she had ever seen him not well on his way to being completely sloshed. She wondered at the uncharacteristic change, but wondered more so if Haymitch had even bothered to warn Katniss at all.

Honestly, she doubted it. No one had warned him, afterall. No one had warned her. Blight was her friend, she still counted him as such, but he hadn’t told her that the games never ended. She’d had to learn that on her own. They all had.

Johanna thought part of it might be born out of vindictiveness. If bad things happened to them, why shouldn’t they happen to the new victors? Why should they get a warning that no one else did. And so they stayed quiet and shared secret looks with the others, shaking their heads pityingly at the naivety of the victors fresh from the games.

Katniss’s dry speech did not take long and as soon as she had waved to the unresponsive crowd she was escorted away quickly, her face a stone mask, and the town hall doors were bolted shut. Johanna and the other victors were hurried away next and escorted back to the Victor’s Village where they were to be prepped for the “party” that would start in just over two hours.

x

Johanna had been right. Her dress did draw attention. She held her head up high and ignored as much of it as possible, holding tighter to Blight’s arm as she did so. They had decided to be each other’s escort, since she was unwilling to be seen with any other person from District Seven and he was not quite ready to put his girlfriend in the danger of having a known relationship with a victor. It worked out well for both of them.

They broke away from each other as soon as possible, which was only after they were briefly interviewed on camera. It was always the same sort of questions, though she was asked more about her dress that year than about her relationship with Blight.

She moved almost immediately toward the buffet table set up along one wall, using her practiced smile when necessary and avoiding any conversation she could. Her dress drew many comments and Johanna swore that she would put an axe in Vita’s skull someday. She was by far the most noticeable person in the room and she could feel gazes crawling all over her like ants. She had to resist the urge to run her fingers through her hair. Cyprian had evened out the messy job she had done with cutting it and put in some striking red streaks in several places. It was all artfully pulled up in a ridge that ran over the center of her head. Cyprian called it a fauxhawk. Johanna thought it made her hair look like a bloody axe head. She loved it, and running her hands all over it would just ruin the look.

Katniss’s arrival was a relief as it drew most of the attention away from her. She was able to stand along the outskirts of the crowds and observe at her leisure.

Katniss had been put into another gown, still emerald but floor length and shining like an actual gem. She was gorgeous. It set Johanna’s teeth on edge. She was not unused to being attracted to women, but it was a problem just the same. She usually took great pains to avoid people she found attractive, that way she would not become attached to someone that would only end up being killed, probably violently.

Of course, being a victor and a Capital darling, Katniss was probably one of the safest people in Panem, at least for the moment. No, it was everyone who associated with her that would be in danger, same as Johanna.

Johanna snorted. Using that logic alone, they were basically made for each other.

Blight had made his rounds and sidled up to her warily. “You look…” he hesitated, “insane.”

Johanna giggled and slapped his chest flirtatiously. Blight’s eyes widened in fear and he took a measured step away. Johanna dropped her expression into a neutral mask. “You say the sweetest things.”

“Do you want to dance?”

“Maybe in a little while. I’m busy right now.” She leaned her weight back on one foot and crossed her arms. Katniss was still trapped in conversation with Woodrow, and Haymitch had joined them.

“Busy watching Miss Everdeen like you want to tear her into little pieces?”

Johanna hummed to herself. “Is that how my expression comes off?” Blight nodded. “Well that’s excellent news, but not at all what I was going for. She intrigues me.”

“Uh oh.”

Johanna felt a smile curl at the corners of her mouth.

“That smile doesn’t help anything.”

Johanna ignored him, returning all of her attention to Katniss, who had been stopped by Woodrow and drawn into conversation. Her smile was as stiff as her shoulders. Her eyes practically screamed her fear and Johanna, a natural predator, was drawn to it beyond all reason. In a way, Blight was right. She wanted to absolutely devour Katniss Everdeen, but only in the best of ways. But in order to get what she wanted, she would first have to keep the girl from making some very dangerous mistakes, or at least stop her from _continuing_ to make them. She couldn’t imagine Katniss to be the type of girl to easily fall for her charms, if she was Johanna wouldn’t be nearly so interested. She was by all appearances, however, a complete idiot when it came to certain unescapable truths.

Johanna would just have to warn her. In order to do that she would have to speak to her.

Mind made up, Johanna strode forward confidently, drawing attention from everyone she passed, until she was standing just behind Katniss’s left elbow. Woodrow was regaling her with the differences between white and yellow pine, and Katniss, bless her, was trying to look interested. It was…endearing.

Haymitch noticed Johanna first. “Johanna,” he greeted, cutting off Woodrow.

“Haymitch,” she returned neutrally with a nod, she gave Woodrow the same. “Ms. Everdeen,” Katniss turned to her and Johanna felt her heart speed up from nerves. She kept her expression neutral and bit down on her tongue before she spoke to calm herself. “I was wondering if you would care to dance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment. I'm really enjoying the reaction this fic is getting. I hope you liked this chapter. There are going to be some fun conversations in the next one.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I hope you liked this little preview and I would love to have some comments on it.
> 
> The title comes from the Civil Wars song Dust to Dust. The song really captures the overall theme that this work will be trying to convey. 
> 
> There's a poll on my bio at ff.net relating to this fic, more specifically relating to Peeta's place in it. The options are: Peeta Lives, or Peeta Dies. I'm sort of leaning toward Peeta Dies but only because it would make writing a little easier, also it would give me a lot of lovely angst. If you've ever read anything by me you'll know that I just love to make girls cry. One less character to deal with. If he lives it would bring out a little more drama though, so that could also be nice. This is a Joniss fic though, so his being alive will not effect the "romance."
> 
> You can vote in the poll or submit your position through a comment.
> 
> https://www.fanfiction.net/u/645261/#


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